Maxen hesitated.
“Get some rest,” his brother insisted. “You probably didn’t get any sleep last night.”
Whether he’d be able to do so now remained to be seen. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He gave Serpent one last glance, jaw tight, before he turned away. The door shut softly at his back, and he made his way toward his chamber—just beside hers.
No sleep for him.
A soft voice drifted from her room as he passed. He didn’t mean to stop. And he certainly didn’t mean to lean closer. But he did.
“I know he means well,” her muffled voice carried through the door, soft but clear enough for him to catch.
Maxen froze.
“But stars, Prince,” she went on, her tone turning wry, “the man could scare a storm off the sea just by frowning.”
Maxen’s brows drew together. Was that how she saw him?
Then came a soft chuckle. “I don’t think he means to look like that. I think he just...” Her voiced dipped and he couldn’t catch the last. He leaned in, and caught again, “But then he...” another dip, “and suddenly he doesn’t seem quite so terrifying.”
What? What did he do, exactly, to seem less terrifying?
“He still looks like he eats danger for breakfast,” she added.
Now that was just bloody absurd.
A throat cleared behind him. Loudly.
Maxen snapped upright, head whipping to the side.
Reaper stood a few feet away, arms crossed, both brows raised.
“I wasn’t spying,” Maxen muttered instantly in a hushed voice, caught off guard.
“I know,” Reaper drawled.
Maxen nodded, stepping away from her door. “Good, then.”
“You were eavesdropping.”
Damnation. He glared at his brother. “She was talking. I thought she might need something.”
Reaper grinned. “Did she ask through the door?”
Maxen turned away, annoyed at getting caught doing something so foolish.
Reaper followed. “You’re turning all red.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, you are.”
Maxen swore under his breath. “Go look in on Serpent and Drake.”
Reaper snorted but mercifully didn’t argue.
Maxen ducked into his room, resisting the absurd urge to slam the door behind him like some ill-tempered brat. He let his back rest against the wood, then pressed a hand to his chest.
Ah, yes. He drew the slipper from his pocket. What to do about this?
